Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 196

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 196.
Choose the Dawn (8)
Epibiono swept his gaze across the Wasteland and continued speaking.
“But these days, other regions… A-N-O-M-A-R-A-D (he was weak with recent place names) and places like that have transformed into remarkably beautiful lands, you know? I still can’t tell whether it was someone’s magical power at work or if they actually cultivated and reshaped the natural landscape. Either way, people seem to be living quite well in those lands. Well, even if it was magic, there probably aren’t any great Mages left who could undo it anyway, so there’s no need to worry.”
Viewing the world through the perspective of a thousand years ago felt strange and alien. The familiar world Boris inhabited was merely an object of observation to Epibiono, while the distant past that Boris could scarcely fathom was nothing but everyday memory to him.
Mysterious, unexpected, even shocking stories flowed from Epibiono’s lips without the gravity of revealing secrets—they emerged only in the casual tone of passing along neighborhood gossip.
This Continent, once a Desert, and among those humans who lived there forgetting even the blessings left by magical civilization, absorbed only in their own affairs—I myself had been one of them.
Yet now Boris was traveling with someone who could answer any question about the old days. Was this not the man who had been called a genius even in Ganapoli, the land of Mages?
“I’ve heard that everyone in Ganapoli was a Mage. If someone was called a genius among them, how much difference would there be between them and ordinary people?”
Epibiono crouched down and dipped his finger bones into the black water before speaking.
“About the difference between you and me.”
“So you’re saying I’m at the level of the people of Ganapoli?”
Of course, it was meant as a joke. But Epibiono responded as though it were obvious.
“Compared to the gap between us, the difference between the people of Ganapoli back then and you is hardly worth mentioning.”
I began to suspect that the pride of Mages might not be ‘appropriately necessary levels’ at all.
Once the two of them had filled their water skins with the black water, Epibiono spoke.
“From now on, let’s leave the Boreios Road and head toward Clazyanya. It was the largest city in the north-central region. I’m not sure if the ‘Mirror’ there will accept you, but if it succeeds, we can greatly shorten the path to Arcadia.”

Clazyanya.
I had heard that word somewhere before. After traveling four more days, Boris finally arrived before what Epibiono called the ‘Mirror of Clazyanya’ and found his answer.
Clazyanya, once the greatest city of the north-central region, had now become a place where it was difficult to find even a single proper foundation stone. Yet from the moment we passed what seemed to be the city’s entrance, there was one structure that stood out distinctly—a massive stone pedestal.
Drawing closer, I could see slender yet sturdy metal extending like arms from both sides of the pedestal. It appeared as though something had once been fitted between them.
Epibiono had certainly called it a Mirror, but nothing resembling a mirror was visible anywhere.
One Young Boy, one young girl, two Lamas, and one human from a thousand years ago stood before it.
Epibiono instructed us to watch carefully what he was about to do, then stepped back several paces and gazed up at the pedestal. He seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood. Shortly after, a slow humming began to drift forth.
After it repeated about twice, lyrics were added. And within them… there dwelled a familiar mystique.

A pearl in water, the world within it
Magic within you, the song within it

Losing what was lost, becoming sacred and clear

A mirror upon stone, upon that clear path
Your desire, as it leads

Following your true intent, you shall find and arrive

At that moment, Boris recalled where he had heard the name Clazyanya before.
Grrrrrrr….
An invisible mirror emitted a sound. It was the noise of an enormous wheel, or perhaps a gear, awakening from slumber and beginning to turn.
Soon, a massive disc towering over the height of two grown men appeared atop a pedestal. It was a mirror gleaming white as if it would burn away beneath the noon sun.
The moment Boris saw it, he recalled the shimmering Sacred Spring he had witnessed when seeking out the spirits—a mirror that reflected the distant past of faraway lands. Then what was this?
“It may seem strange that a song summons something, but this is no ordinary chant. The Sacred Chant Tradition is….”
“The power of Origin Island.”
Epibiono, who had stopped mid-explanation, widened his eyes and turned the question back on me.
“How did you know?”
Seeing Epibiono’s surprise, I felt some satisfaction in having spoken.
“You suspected it yourself before—that there are descendants of those who escaped this place. Some of the ancient traditions have survived.”
“There’s a successor to the Sacred Chant Tradition? This is astounding. Don’t tell me it’s you?”
Boris shook his head. He tried to speak casually, but his voice gradually grew quieter.
“…When I left that land, I swore to forget it all.”
“Regardless, someone must have taught you, no? The Sacred Chant Tradition is among the most difficult of all magical traditions, yet it has continued to this day.”
Epibiono looked between the mirror and Boris with evident excitement, then tilted his head in curiosity.
“Right, was that performed correctly? Since you learned it directly, you would understand—how does it compare to what I summoned? Perhaps that’s an unfair comparison. Besides, the value of a chant isn’t determined solely by its outward beauty, but….”
This much, at least, I could answer clearly.
“The song of the one who taught me… sounded like celestial music to my ears. I don’t believe I shall ever hear anything greater than that.”
A moment later, I noticed Epibiono seemed somewhat sullen.
Isolet had also taught me the Clazyanya chant. I remembered when Boris sat in the Grassland practicing and humming it, and Nauplion had told him it was the “Clazyanya chant.”
It was a memory from the past. Tales of better times from an era to which I could never return.
As such thoughts filled my mind, I found myself with no desire whatsoever to console Epibiono.
Yet as the two men stood awkwardly apart, Nayatrey shifted position and stepped between them.
Even after the chant ended, the mirror’s surface continued to shimmer quietly and flow.
After a moment, Epibiono’s mood seemed to lighten, and he called Boris over to look into the mirror—concentrating his mind on the place he wished to see.
Shortly after, the mirror’s flowing surface became clear and still.
Boris beheld a ruined Tower. With its outer walls roughly stripped bare and its middle severed, the Tower rose skyward, caught within the vortex of a spiraling staircase. The sky was blue, and the horizon stretched infinitely distant.
The delicate decorative grooves carved into the Tower’s walls seemed as futile as the growth rings of a fallen ancient tree. A building with a blue hemispherical roof, dotted with white stars, also caught his eye. Its center too was deeply sunken.
The remnants of a suspended bridge—stretching into empty air before abruptly ending, appearing like half the corpse of a dead serpent—were disturbingly vivid.
As if within reach, as if right before his eyes.
Had I closed my eyes? I couldn’t remember. I thought I was merely gazing into the mirror, yet somehow Boris and his companions now stood in Arcadia—a city that had once been beautiful a thousand years ago, now filled only with ruins.
“This is maddening….”
It was neither Boris nor Nayatrey who murmured this. It was Epibiono—the sole person who remembered the city’s prosperity.
He had witnessed the fallen city, stripped of its grace, standing alone with no one to console him.
Boris asked.
“Even after a thousand years, do you still feel the way you did then?”
Epibiono lowered his head for a moment before responding.
“How fortunate it would be if I could.”
As Boris looked around, the ruined Tower he had seen through the mirror moments before proved to be far more massive in scale than he had imagined.
That single tower alone surpassed the grandeur of every building Boris had ever witnessed in his lifetime. The entrance was wide enough for dozens to walk through side by side, and even estimating only the remaining portion of the tower, its height would reach at least thirty lengths.
Nayatrey approached and ran her hand along one of the collapsed pillars. As she brushed away the dust, the stone revealed itself to be white in color.
Boris followed and drew his dagger, scraping the surface of another stone. The inner radiance of that stone gleamed blue—the very stone that had built the Hall of Spirits, the azure stone.
Boris gazed intently at the blue-exposed stone surface. The color was so exquisite that the scraped mark appeared like a jewel buried in sand. Fine silver dust glimmered subtly embedded across the surface.
Epibiono’s voice came from behind.
“Even as the magic fades, the stone remains blue. Yet with no one left to breathe magic into that stone again, it is now no different from ordinary rock.”
Boris knew how beautiful and magnificent the building constructed from that stone had been. For that reason, witnessing the azure and white stones rolling through the dust felt all the more bitter.
When he lifted his gaze to look upon the collapsed tower once more, that feeling reached its peak.
It was none other than the Library.
“The Library….”
It was that very building which Zero and Ilios had spent their entire lives attempting to replicate.
Despite being nothing but ruins, its overwhelming splendor humbled the observer, making the Island Library seem rather insignificant. Yet the external structure was strikingly similar.
Considering that Ilios and Zero, who had never once seen the true Library, had created it together with only the two of them, their work approached the miraculous. For that very reason, their dream felt all the more poignant.
How entranced would Zero be upon witnessing this sight, and how much would he lament it? That the sacred temple of books erected upon the earth now lay toppled in a wasteland untouched by any footstep.
And the Island Library, which had sought to recreate it, had also burned away into nothingness.
Nayatrey rose from the stone and turned to face Epibiono.
“Is this your homeland?”
Epibiono chuckled, his shoulders hunching slightly.
“If I must be precise, it is the homeland of my heart. I was originally a country bumpkin, after all.”
Boris knew that Epibiono was one of the mages who had come to Arcadia to participate in the ceremony of the Dawn Tower.
Yet even if not the place of one’s birth, Arcadia would have been a homeland to all mages. Nayatrey gazed once more at the tower Boris had called the Library, then asked again.
“Is that where you read books?”
“Only me? Tens of thousands read there. Don’t ask how many books there were—I didn’t know even then. We once wagered whether there were more books than starlight embedded in the azure stone that built the library. I bet on more books, but I never collected my winnings.”
“Why didn’t you collect them?”
Epibiono narrowed his eyes and turned his head. His answer drifted from behind.
“Ganapoli fell, so I couldn’t collect them.”
Though it sounded like a jest, laughter would not come. Epibiono rested one hand at his waist, his head tilted back as he gazed upon the Library. Or perhaps he was leaning on his spine rather than his waist. The hem of his cloak pressed beneath his hand sagged abnormally.
A brief silence fell. The three stood, each gazing upon the Library. Could any books remain within? Or had they all turned to dust?
Boris spoke.
“You remember the old days well.”
“Remember well?”
Epibiono turned to face Boris, shaking his head vigorously as his eyes closed. With skeletal hands, he pressed against his eyelids. After a long moment, a voice tinged with regret flowed forth.
“In that final moment, when I alone survived, toyed with by the will of an absolute being I could not comprehend….”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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